Any Time Now
by Aussiegirl41
Summary: Alice decides to help Matthew out with a case. A series of drabbles written for various Tumblr TDBM Drabble prompts featuring Malice.
1. Chapter 1

Written for the 'holiday' prompt.

 **Title: Undercover Blues**

"Billy Simpson? Nah, mate."

Clearly his questions had piqued the barman's interest.

"What brings you here tonight?"

What did bring a Ballarat policeman to Toorak? Not a holiday, that was for sure.

"My old friend Billy Simpson," Matthew replied before gesturing towards the stage and clicking his fingers in time with the jaunty beat coming from the three-piece band. "He told me you had the best music in Melbourne."

"If you're such a fan…" The man's chin jutted towards the crowded dance floor. Lucien and Jean were there. The distance between their bodies, or lack thereof, would have drawn attention in most establishments but here no one was blinking an eyelid. "Why aren't you dancing?"

Matthew waved his walking stick.

"How do I know that's truly needed?"

With a grunt, he bent and lifted the leg of his trousers, high enough to expose hollowed out flesh.

Apparently satisfied, the barman moved onto another customer – before Matthew could engage him in further conversation about Billy unfortunately.

So much for Lucien's plan. All he'd done thus far was raise suspicion.

Nursing his beer, he cautiously searched for someone else who might know Billy. Women? The blonde selling cigarettes. The brunette leaning to get hers lit by the beefy doorman. The classy redhead weaving her way purposefully towards him–

He spat out his beer.

There was no way Alice Harvey could ever blend in at some illegal nightclub.

As she got closer, Matthew attempted to even out his weight on the stool. She had a knack of knocking him off balance at the best of times though, let alone when he seemed to be her entire focus.

He took a long gulp of beer. He needed to steady himself or else their cover wasn't the only thing that was going to blow tonight.


	2. Dangerous Footing

Written for the 'bloody hell'prompt.

 **Title: Dangerous Footing**

Alice strode along the lane carefully dodging any cracks in the bitumen. She'd never fly under the radar with ripped stockings and bloody knees.

Suddenly a man hurtled past her and crashed head first into a row of garbage bins.

A burly man soon followed, giving the smaller fellow a kick for good measure. "I told ya, ya mongrel," he growled in a thick New Zealand accent.

She quickly grasped this opportunity and squeezed through the gaudily painted door from which they'd emerged before the bouncer could question her credentials.

Once inside, she wrinkled her nose, surrounded by the stench of stale beer and urine.

Determinedly, however, she squinted through the thick layer of smoke which was giving the air a bluish tinge. A dark skinned woman graced a poky stage, singing in deep soulful tones. Below the singer, a crush of couples danced suggestively. Others converged near a bar, drinking and chatting. One tall man with bright eyes stood out.

After she'd zig-zagged her way to his side, he muttered, "Bloody hell… Alice?"

"I got the autopsy report," she started, ignoring his shock. Besides the ridiculously high heels, her skirt was too short and her lipstick too bright. "I have a friend who's a doctor at the Alfred. Well, more of an acquaintance than a friend. Okay, you're right. I worked a few of his night shifts and he owed me."

Abruptly, she realised she'd been shouting to make him hear over the music.

She leaned closer, placing her lips near his ear. His masculine soapy scent negated the club's less-than-fresh smell quite nicely. Then, without warning, someone jostled her from behind. She stumbled. Matthew's stick clattered to the floor and he had to drag her inelegantly closer until she was wedged between his legs.

"Bloody hell," he repeated.


	3. Flight of Fancy

Written for the 'long hot summer' prompt.

 **Title: Flight of Fancy**

The club's humid air was not the only reason a film of sweat was forming on Matthew's upper lip. As part of Dr Harvey's 'camouflage' she'd left the top button of her blouse open and from this angle he was catching a glimpse of wondrous forbidden things.

Not that he'd never imagined such things.

Some time ago he'd replaced the random unknown women of his dreams with Alice. Oddly, his fantasy Alice scolded him just as frequently as she did in real life. It was the soothing she did afterwards that was pure delusion on his part. In fact, he already knew he'd embellish tonight's scene – he would gallantly save her from falling – and replay it several times in the privacy of his bed.

Her elbow brought him back to earth with a thud.

He loosened his stance and tilted his torso until she was free. She then untangled her left arm from where it was hooked around his waist.

"Thank you, Inspector."

Even though she was speaking in her usual no-nonsense tone, he had never seen her look so dishevelled. Not only was her blouse and skirt askew, her lipstick was smudged and her hair's cow's lick had finally won the day, meaning several tendrils of dark copper were falling haphazardly across her forehead.

As if on cue, she pushed her tumbled fringe back off her face. "It's hot in here," she puffed.

"Let me get you a drink," he offered, swivelling his head in search of his cane.

"I'll get it."

He was always able-bodied in his dreams. But he might need to revisit that idea, he thought, as Alice bent to fetch his walking stick and took such an extraordinarily long time to rise.

"Think I'll make it two drinks." It was, after all, hot in here.


	4. Break Rank

Written for the 'bathroom' prompt

 **Title: Break Rank**

Alice pressed through the gaggle of women, all prattling on about men and fashion, to sidle into the ladies room. She gasped at her reflection in its mirror. No wonder Matthew had been giving her those lingering looks – part curious, part bewildered – since she'd arrived. She looked like the Wreck of the Hesperus!

Risking the wrath of the women waiting in line, she dove into a cubicle for a handful of paper before returning to the mirror to wipe and blot at her stained lips. Using the one stray bobby pin she fished out of her clutch bag, she next fixed her hair the best she could. Then, she shrugged and wriggled her shoulders until her blouse was in a more modest position; enough to hide the fact she was sadly lacking when it came to curves.

Her mind told her that such frivolous feminine concerns should be beneath her but… Then there was Matthew Lawson.

Heading for the door, she berated herself. There'd be plenty of time later to worry about Matthew Lawson and the way his eyes sparkled. It was time to concentrate on the murders. Although… She did especially like the way his eyes looked when he was laughing with her. Not laughing at her, or behind her back, like most men did ever since she was young. He even laughed sometimes when she wasn't even trying to be funny which, surprisingly, made her feel like laughing in return.

She emitted a soft groan at her incessant silly thoughts. This, at least, scattered some of the women from the corridor, giving her a clearer path to the main part of the club. She'd only taken a few steps, however, when a hand gripped her upper arm, propelling her in the opposite direction.

"This way, copper," someone growled.


	5. Friends in High Places

Written for the 'use a minor character' challenge.

 **Title: Friends in High Places**

The adding machines, telephones and typewriters which crowded several desks almost made the room Matthew had been led into seem like a normal office – if it hadn't been for the blackboard, ruled into a series of columns and rows, covering the entire far wall.

"I don't want to make a bet. I just came for the music," Matthew said, keeping a panicky tone in his voice (no civilian would be calm in this situation) whilst carefully noting the men from whom he'd need to escape.

The fellow wearing a pair of sleeve garters with chalk dust staining his fingers didn't seem a threat. The tall Italian who was now circling his chair, however, was another kettle of fish. As was the barman who'd been suspicious of him earlier; he stood in the doorway.

"Your friend Billy Simpson told you about it. What else did Billy tell you?"

"Nothing."

"And you brought your old lady tonight?"

"No. I'm a widower." Always best to keep your answers as truthful as possible.

"You came alone?"

"Yes."

"She turned up afterwards," the barman confirmed with a nod.

"The woman at the bar?" Matthew asked, realising it would be no use to deny talking to Alice. "I just met her tonight." Maybe he could turn the tables on them. "You've set me up?" he spluttered. "She's some sort of… Tart? On your payroll? You think because I have a limp, I'll pay–"

"She called you 'inspector' and mentioned an autopsy," the Italian said, the threat obvious just from his tone. "Maybe we should ask Billy if you're a good friend or if you're simply an undercover copper, inspector."

The barman leaned out into the hallway and signalled someone.

He heard the distinct clip of women's high heels.

And then Billy Bentley sashayed into the room.


	6. Nasty Piece of Work

Written for the 'women's work' prompt.

Title: Nasty Piece of Work

Alice's manhandler led her along a hallway, through a room lined with kegs and crates full of bottles, out a door, and into a laneway.

"Get in," he said, gesturing towards a parked idling car.

"I can walk."

"Get in," he repeated, shoving her towards the open car door.

"Leave her…"

She quickly scrambled towards that voice. Matthew's tall frame was twisted into the back seat of the car. His face was drenched with sweat. A steady trickle of red dripped sloppily from his chin onto the car's upholstery. The area around his left eye was darkened. Worst though, was his already-damaged leg; it seemed to be once again pointing at an incorrect angle.

Not wanting to draw Matthew's attention to that particular problem, she opened her handbag and began to fish around for her handkerchief.

"Whatta ya doing?" her captor asked, knocking the clutch from her grasp.

"I need to mop up the blood." She raised her chin, defiant. "I'm a doctor. I need to establish the blood is only coming from the cut on his cheek. That looks like a standard haematoma–" she pointed to his eye– "but I need to check no blood is coming from the nose or ears."

"Letta go," the driver said. "Her bag wouldda been checked when she entered the club."

Not arguing with this incorrect assumption, Alice snatched up the bag and slid into the seat where, discreetly, she studied Matthew's leg as she wiped his face.

"So much for my knight in shining armour," she chided. "Not that we'd have ever made a run for it." Gratefully, he chuckled, but then the driver put the car into gear and accelerated away from the club and away from any chance of Lucien coming to their aid. Apparently it was now her job.


	7. Kiss and Tell

Written for the 'smut in the back seat' prompt

 **Title: Kiss and Tell**

"We just passed Albert Park. Heading for the docks?"

Matthew appreciated that Alice was leaning in close to prevent their conversation from being overheard, but it was distracting. He should have been trying to work out a plan to get them out of this situation, not enjoying the way her mouth felt against his skin.

"Billy Simpson is Billy Bentley," he'd told her a moment ago. "When I'd called her a 'he', they knew I'd been lying."

He didn't mention the moment when Billy had laughed at the barman's query regarding Alice's 'inspector' comment. "I can assure you he's not an inspector. He's a Chief Superintendent," she'd said, prompting the Italian to use his fists.

He didn't hold Alice responsible though. It was just a slip of the tongue.

He groaned. Thinking inappropriate thoughts about Alice slipping her tongue… At a time like this?

"Matthew? You're in pain?"

"Nah…"

"Shut it!" This came from the greasy thug who'd brought Alice out of the club. He was in the front passenger seat.

"Ah, leave 'em," countered the driver, glancing in the rearview mirror. "Poor fellow might as well get some while he can."

Alice stared at the driver for a long time before she turned back to Matthew.

"What?"

Her only answer was to move close and kiss him. Taking about five seconds to catch up, he kissed her back. Her lips were plump and sweet and she near on took his breath away.

"Touch me," she ordered loudly when they finally broke apart.

This woman he wanted like crazy was into some… Peep show? "Alice–"

She nipped his neck. "My inner thigh."

He was in the backseat of a car, perhaps minutes from death, and his hand was up Alice Harvey's skirt. Where everything was soft and smooth and… Metallic?


	8. Blood on Her Hands

Written for the 'red' prompt.

 **Title: Blood on Her Hands**

Alice frantically bunched another strip of material she'd ripped from Matthew's shirt and pressed it down harder against the point of penetration. But the bloom of blood quickly spread across that scrap of cloth too, infusing it with the same chocolate and crimson colour that was already soaked into her skirt and blouse and skin.

It was all her fault. The flash of the scalpel, the shouts of the driver, the ear-shattering crack of a gunshot, the first bright red spray of blood, the feeling of weightlessness, the thud and slam as gravity rearranged her body in the vehicle's crammed interior.

Finally the scene was lit by blue and red flashing lights.

"Quickly! Ballistic trauma! At least…" How long? "Fifteen minutes ago. Entry here." She pointed and knew she should tell them something else. Something about his breathing?

"He's a policeman," she said instead as they took over. "Undercover." She didn't want those attending to think he was a gangster.

She fell back against the clammy carseat and stared straight ahead, hardly moving despite the buzz of activity which now surrounded her. The front passenger door creaked open.

"Look at the pattern." She waved her hands towards the streaks of red and grey that were spliced with the shards of glass. Her kidnapper had been propelled through the windscreen "It's fascinating the way the brain–"

"Shock," a man said and she felt the unmistakable scratchiness of an emergency kit's blanket fall across her shoulders.

"Not necessarily." Jean's voice?

And Lucien's? Yes. Lucien was efficiently issuing medical suggestions.

"Can you walk?" someone was asking, their outstretched hand assisting her from the car.

Matthew's stretcher was being loaded into the back of the ambulance. From this angle she could see the red of her lipstick on his mouth. It made her smile.


	9. Something to Remember

Written for the 'a night to remember' prompt

 **Title: Something to Remember**

Only one of Matthew's eyes would open. He stretched it wide, trying to focus. His view was an insipid pale green wall. A heater's vertical white stripes fit snugly beneath an open window. A lacy white curtain which reminded him of a bride's veil fluttered in the breeze.

"Boss!"

He was still wincing at the volume Danny could achieve as a cup with a drinking spout was pressed against his lips. Thirst gave into pride and he took a grateful gulp.

"How ya feel?"

Matthew touched the tender skin around his closed eye. A pain shot along his side with every breath; broken ribs, he knew from experience. And his leg… He raised his head and groaned in frustration. His leg was plastered and suspended from a complicated tangle of metal wires and links.

"Where's Doctor–"

"Lucien and Jean just went to grab a cuppa. They've been here for ages. Feeling pretty guilty. Seeing how you and Doctor Harvey were in a bit of a bind whilst they were living it up at the club."

"Someone was shot?"

Danny nodded. "The bloke driving the car."

"I don't remember," he admitted.

"Doc Harvey cut the rotter in the front seat, and he pulled out a gun. The driver swerved so the rotter wouldn't shoot youse and ended up getting shot himself. Doctor Harvey kept him alive until the ambos got there. Before he passed out, he told her his real name and that he was an undercover copper. Reckon he was gonna help youse get away even if Doctor Harvey hadn't pulled out that scalpel from her bag."

Matthew frowned. "From her bag?"

He'd imagined it? The way she'd kissed him? The way he'd retrieved the scalpel?

Well, he thought, determined, there was only one way to find out for sure.


	10. Better Late Than Never

Written for the 'in bed' prompt

 **Title: Better Late Than Never**

Alice peered through the small glass panel. Matthew had his back to the door but she assumed he was awake; a newspaper was propped against his leg which now sported a white plaster cast.

She couldn't put this off any longer. She'd found every excuse under the sun, and then some, to avoid visiting. She'd even lingered at the nurses' station today, procrastinating further. Upon mentioning her medical degree, the matron had merely rolled her eyes and reminded Alice about the strictness of visiting hours.

She had no idea what she was going to say. There was no case to talk about; the Club owners were safely tucked away in Pentridge. Billy Bentley had somehow talked her way out of an arrest. Alice was loath to introduce the glamorous blonde as a topic of conversation, however.

Perhaps she could greet him with a joke to break the ice? That one about hospital beds and the slab in the morgue? No…

Taking a deep breath, she entered the room.

"Alice!"

Before she could return his warm smile, she saw a wheelchair parked beside the bed – ready and waiting.

"You're back in that?" she blurted out as a greeting.

He shrugged. "You're a doctor."

What was he implying? "I'm not an orthopedic surgeon."

He sighed. "We should talk."

"Why?"

"Why not," he countered.

As she flushed with guilt, he wrestled around in the bed, rearranging himself against a pillow and folding _The Age_ into a neat pile on the floor. "There's room in the bed now," he announced.

Frantic, she spun around searching for a chair. There was one near the window-

"Here," he said, patting the cleared space alongside him. "Sit."

And, for some inexplicable reason, she obeyed this soft command.

"That's better," he murmured.

And, shockingly, she nodded with agreement.


	11. Blood, Sweat and Tears

Written for the 'write a character you don't like sympathetically' challenge.

 **Title: Blood, Sweat and Tears**

Matthew was puffing like an old steam train but last time he'd dared suggest he was getting too old for such things he'd been subjected to a full five minute speech. Alice's lecture had continued on longer when he'd suggested he might just be too crippled for such things.

Of course, she'd then knocked him for six when she'd tearily revealed that him lying flat on his back had made it easier for her to agree to such things. A vulnerable Alice Harvey was enough to rattle him, even without the rest of the story.

A motor's low rumble followed by a crunch of tyres twisting in gravel startled him.

"Alice!" Was she still in the bathroom?

The creak and clank of a car door had him using his walking stick to retrieve his clothes from the floor. His hamstrings screamed (they were already tight from leaning up to capture Alice's small but perfect breasts in his mouth) as he lunged to tug his underpants past his plaster cast.

The back screen door slapped against its hinges.

He'd stretched for the crumpled sheet, shook it with a snap, and draped it over himself just as a pixie-like face peeked around the doorway.

Seeing he was awake, his visitor practically skipped into his bedroom, talking a mile a minute (just like her mother) until she suddenly clamped her mouth shut and wrinkled her nose.

"Do you need help with a bath?"

He muttered something which elicited a cool hand flattening across his forehead.

"You're sweating." She folded her arms. "You started physical therapy without me?"

"Yes, I've been–"

Alice chose this exact moment to reappear, carrying a tray laden with a water jug and glasses. She still only wore a slip – clearly nothing was underneath.

"Exercising," Matthew finished his sentence weakly.


	12. Storm in a Teacup

Written for the 'around the table' prompt.

 **Title: Storm in a Teacup**

Alice sat at the Blake's kitchen table with her head held high. She refused to become some sort of hand wringer.

Opposite her, Rose's head was bowed, her fingers tracing the seersucker pattern of the tablecloth.

Matthew's wheelchair was cumbersome. Its front wheels only lined up with Alice's thigh. She didn't need to turn though; she could imagine his brooding expression.

Jean was rotating the teapot, adjusting its cosy, asking once, twice, and again, if anyone was hungry as she pushed a plate of biscuits around.

"Well…"

Alice winced as Lucien dropped his delicate teacup into its saucer with a clatter. He clapped his hands together. "We can all–"

"At your age," Rose interrupted.

"Hold your horses–"

"And with your leg!"

"His leg was fine," Alice insisted. "I was more worried about his ribs."

A teaspoon fell from Jean's fingers. Lucien frantically took a gulp of tea. Rose's cheeks suited her name.

"What will the girls think–"

"I don't see how–"

"Is Alice going to move in? Are you getting married?"

Alice's chair scraping as she stood silenced everyone.

"Rose!" Jean scolded. "I'm sorry, Alice," she added, always the diplomatic one. "Why don't you stay for dinner."

They'd only just had afternoon tea. It would be hours before another meal would be served.

"No, it's fine. I need to get home to…feed the cat."

"You are welcome," Lucien said, his tone resolute. "Not just for dinner either. You're welcome to move in."

"Yes," Jean quickly agreed.

She was touched that Lucien and Jean would accept her presence in their house permanently.

Slowly, she turned to Matthew. His mouth a grim thin line, he avoided her searching look. Apparently he didn't agree with their ideas of another housemate.

Heading for the door, she said truthfully, "It's a little crowded for me."


	13. Push Forward

Written for the 'at the movies' prompt.

This is the last in this series of drabbles. Although, being pretty open ended, I might add to it, you never know.

 **Title: Push Forward**

It took Matthew a moment to realise Alice was leaving. He caught up with her at the door. "I'll see you later?" he asked, hopeful.

"Yes, I'll be at the hospital–"

Surely she knew to ignore Rose's fussing. "I meant…"

They both remained silent until she moved to retrieve her handbag from the hallway table. He lunged forwards at that exact moment, banging clumsily into the same table and sending her handbag flying.

"You're not going to ask me to marry you, are you?" she asked quickly as she deftly scooped up the bag.

"Wasn't planning on it."

Relieved, they both snorted with laughter.

"How about we start over. A date. The movies?" he suggested.

She gestured to the chair. "Can you get in with this thing?"

"Probably have to sit down the front."

"What do we do there?"

"Where?" he asked, confused.

"At the movies."

He peered up at her expression. It was guileless. "Watch a movie," he explained slowly, "or two. The news…"

She fiddled with the clasp of her bag. "And that's all?"

"All?"

"I thought couples went to the movies to…"

"Well, we'd have to sit up the back for that."

Her eyes darted to his chair again.

"Dinner afterwards?" He was probably pushing his luck. "There's a ramp at your place." He recalled her house had three steps up to her front brick patio. Her back door, however, was accessible via a concrete ramp.

"How do you know?" she asked sharply.

He just shrugged. "I'm a policeman. I've not seen inside," he said, manoeuvring his chair backwards and forwards until his wheels were no longer wedged against the skirting board. "Maybe you have wider halls, less furniture?"

"Alright, my house," she surprisingly agreed. Next, she bent and kissed his cheek. "You can meet the cat."

~~The End~~


End file.
